


Hell Hath No Fury Like a Dinobot Named Scorn

by ravingLimey



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Innuendo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2729393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravingLimey/pseuds/ravingLimey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dinobots destroyed everything in their path, even 'friends'. Inspired by Hasbro's 'How to Ride a Dinobot' shorts on YT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell Hath No Fury Like a Dinobot Named Scorn

**Author's Note:**

> if you havent seen those shorts on YT look it up right now because they are kawaii as shit. this may not make sense if you havent seen it
> 
> this medical shit is 100% pulled out of my ass. im not a doctor. or nusrse. they kicked me out of all medical classes. closest thing ive done is i got to play with a human heart and lungs with my bare hands and fucking megan was whining about how DARE i have fun with organs like girl. this isnt shit i get to do everyday. stfu. then drew called her dumb and i felt better. such is life in amerika.

If Dinobots were worthy of Optimus Prime’s attention, they surely could not be that bad. Drift knew that. He just needed a break from Slug.

Drift let his tires lead him to the Yeager farm. He wasn’t even consciously thinking about it when he ended up in his hangar. Dust popped out seams when he transformed. His face still felt the sting of Slug’s raygun, burning hot like embarrassment. Despite it being before six, he crawled onto his berth and tried to sleep.

Something angry, muttering, and green buried its face in the back of his neck sometime later. Drift squeezed the hand on his waist. “Bad day, too?”

“I wanna fuckin’ ship them back to China,” said Crosshairs weakly.

Wow, he was worse than Drift thought. He wriggled in the green grip to face Crosshairs. He _was_ worse off. Half his goggles were missing, his nasal ridge was scraped to a rough concave, and, most alarmingly, his optics were flickering and sparking.

Drift pushed out of the embrace, own exhaustion forgotten, and inspected Crosshairs’ eyes. Which was hard, since he kept moving. “Oi, mate, wot’s the big idea?” he swatted Drift’s hand from his face.

“How many fingers am I holding?”

“Enough,” Crosshairs said with a lewd smile.

Drift was going to hit the back of the green helm, but stopped last second. How the hell did Crosshairs make it back to the hangar? He held his hand up again. “Seriously! You are injured.”

“Three. You’re injured, too, love.”

All Drift had was just burns to wash, something he could do himself later. He dropped a finger. “I am fine. You are not. How many fingers?”

Crosshairs looked him straight in the optics, or Drift thought he meant to, because he was looking slightly to the left of where his optics actually were. “I said three. Am I good now?”

Okay, so Crosshairs had some calibration issues. Not that it mattered, because he had no clue how to fix it. He knew who did, though.

* * *

 

Bumblebee had the same idea about where to go for Dinobot injuries. The scout was already in the 'laboratory' having Cade weld a split in his leg plating when Drift walked in, Crosshairs hanging off.

Being around Cade was still awkward, but Drift knew he couldn’t avoid him forever. Cade turned off his torch and dumped a bucket of water on the welded metal. It hissed loudly. Cade looked at the Autobot in the barn doorway expectantly.

Drift explained the situation to Cade as calmly he could.

Cade was astonished. “Scorn did all that?”

“Even ate me goggles, that Dinobot did,” Crosshairs added to the tale.

Drift politely asked, “Will you fix his optics?”

“You want some eye surgery?” Cade asked reluctantly. “I’ve done sensors and radar on drones but never a complex eye.” He saw the gold faceplate and quickly added, “But I can give it a shot.”

That got the green mech’s attention. He back up while saying, “Y’ain’t gonna be pokin’ ‘round me optics―”

His neck bumped into Drift’s hand, and he fell unconscious. Drift caught him easily, already expecting him to drop.

“Did you just give him a Vulcan nerve pinch?” Cade said almost disappointedly, like he should have expected something like that would happen.

Drift shrugged. “He will be out for the hour.” Cade could think whatever he wanted. It was actually a ticklish spot on the back of many Cybertronians’ necks. Being so vulnerable there, the spinal relay could be stopped temporarily or permanently depending on the blow delivered.

The human inspected the optics, poked one, then asked as if he was expecting a negative answer, “Do your faces, like, come off?” He made some motions to his own.

Drift smiled and nodded. “Let me.” He reached under the green part of Crosshairs’ helm and popped the plating. Metal from forehead to just under optics slid to expose bound wires. He saw Cade shudder and start tweaking. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing despite his self-doubt. Drift had seen the filaments many times and never knew what they did. Deadlock knew they could cause pain. Cade, a human, who had never seen such circuitry before, knew what the wires did. It amazed Drift at how adept humans could be.

“You can put his face on, now.”

“Is he alright?” Drift said, turning the paratrooper’s head, inspecting Cade’s work. Better than Ratchet’s rush jobs. The wires looked smoother than a protoform’s and lined up perfectly.

Cade nodded. “And if he asks, just say you fixed him,” Cade added, wiping his hands on a filthy rag.

“I could never take credit,” Drift said, shocked, “To claim another’s doing as my own, that is the path of dishonor.”

“ _Dishonor on your cow!_ ”

And the bumblepuppy was still in the barn.

“I mean it, Drift. I don’t want him attacking my eyes just because I fixed his.”

Drift rolled his optics. “Crosshairs just hates doctors. He was not fond of Ratchet,” he said as he touched his spark for a moment.

“Optimus Prime said not to harm humans.” He crossed his arms. “Believe me, if we were not given such orders, we would have killed you all.” _Like last Thursday, in the hangar, that you so rudely interrupted._

The human tuned pale and climbed off Crosshairs without help. “You can take him back to your hangar now!” he called across the barn.

Crosshairs’ unconscious form was a comforting burden to bear. He left him supine on their berth. That was one thing off his checklist.

 

* * *

 

Everything looked clear, solid, and best of all, unmoving. Crosshairs wasn’t even dizzy when he stood up. His hangar was empty, and he felt great, so he went outside. The brightness didn’t hurt, mostly because it was dark. A car approached from the horizon. Crosshairs waved to Drift and headed back in.

Drift skidded inside the hangar, covered in mechanical fluids, and transformed. He slapped something in Crosshairs’ palm and went back outside.

Crosshairs looked at his hand. It was a red lens. He never thought he’d see it again and have to make another pair of goggles out of some inferior material on the organic planet. The paratrooper found him fiddling with a hose connected to the outside of the hangar. “How’d you find this?”

Drift got the spray working and rinsed his burnt face. “I use swords, remember?”

Crosshairs balked.

“Tracking a Dinobot is easy.” Drift shook the water off like a dog. “It is attacking one off guard that is hard. Fortunately, Scorn has a soft underbelly that slices easily.”

“You killed Spike? Bleeding hell,” Crosshairs sighed and scrubbed his face. “What’re we gonna tell Prime? You know, you’re gonna have to make up for Spike with _your―_ ”

“ _‘Spike’_ , is alive,” Drift scoffed, “I doubt Dinobots can be killed.” He stood up, stretched his arms, hooked one around Crosshairs’ waist. “Come. We should sleep.”

Crosshairs let the blue mech guide him into their hangar, too tired to argue. He let himself fall to their berth and curl without energy like a dead leaf. Drift dropped with restrained exhaustion, and Crosshairs separated their fronts with a knee. “Still wanna send ‘em back to China,” he said to the blue chest. It whirred a laugh.

 


End file.
